


A Proper Dressing Down

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: A little bit anyway, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grading, Grammar Kink, M/M, Making Out, Professors, Strip Games, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac comes home to find Combeferre at the end of his rope with grading his students' papers. It doesn't take him long to formulate a spoonful of sugar to help Combeferre get that medicine down... and in return, he gets far more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Dressing Down

**Author's Note:**

> **_October 5, 2013:_** So... yeah. The other night I was grading papers. And they were atrocious. They were **so** atrocious that I couldn't sleep after grading them because I was too wound up. So... I ficced. I'd apologize to Combeferre for putting him through that, but I somehow think he's satisfied with the way things turned out. ^_~
> 
>  ** _Disclaimer:_** The origins of Combeferre's crush on Courfeyrac were unashamedly borrowed, with the best of intentions, from [this post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/61510262816), by texts-from-les-amis on tumblr. No harm was intended. ^_^
> 
> (Also, I'll admit, I wasn't entirely sure this deserved an 'M' rating, but I figured I should err on the side of caution. There is nearly-naked making out, after all. ^_~)
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/63205484837/a-proper-dressing-down-3800-words-by-eirenical).

"Damn it all to fucking hell and back in a hand basket made of the bones of these ingrate students who can't even be bothered to turn on their grammar check function! I have had enough! I quit!"

Courfeyrac's eyes widened at that sudden outburst and only a quick turn and even quicker reflexes saved both himself and Combeferre's laptop from a highly ignominious end. As it was, they both ended up on the floor, but Courfeyrac took far less damage from that fall than Combeferre's laptop would have had he not been there to intercept it. Picking himself and the laptop up off the floor, Courfeyrac gingerly inched his way towards Combeferre's bedroom and peeked around the doorframe. Even knowing what the response was likely to be, Courfeyrac still couldn't stop himself from asking… "Combeferre, are you all right?"

Combeferre, pacing furiously back and forth at the foot of his bed, had his hands buried in his hair, tugging hard at the chestnut strands. At Courfeyrac's question, and the sight of the laptop clutched tightly in his hands, he said, tightly, "No. No, I am _not_ all right." He pointed a shaking finger at his laptop and said, "This is not what I signed up for. These people are college students. They are _third year_ college students. This was a simple assignment. They were to write two to three pages and I required only one or two sources. It was _not_ a difficult assignment." He scowled. "And I even have confirmation from Grantaire that it was not a difficult assignment."

Courfeyrac winced and shifted to tuck the laptop onto his opposite side -- farther away from Combeferre. "I take it that your students had more difficulty than you expected?"

With a snarl in his voice that was entirely un-Combeferre-like -- and far sexier than Courfeyrac was entirely comfortable with admitting it was -- Combeferre enunciated very clearly, "I. Can't. Tell. _Those_ ," he pointed at the laptop, once again, "Are not written in English. It is not any other language I recognize, either. How can I grade a paper for content when I can't even understand it well enough to determine what the content _is_?"

Courfeyrac looked down at the laptop in his hands then back up at Combeferre. When Combeferre had been asked to teach this course, he'd been flattered, full of enthusiasm and plans, full of fire and excitement. To see him so discouraged, so disappointed, was heartbreaking. It was cruel. In that moment, Courfeyrac wanted nothing more than to take every one of the students responsible for Combeferre's disillusionment and anger, turn them over his knee and tan their asses for them until his hand hurt too much to swing, again. But there was enough anger and pain in this room, already. Gently placing Combeferre's laptop down next to the stack of printed rubrics, Courfeyrac walked further into the room, towards Combeferre. As he approached, Combeferre's eyes widened and he took a half-step back. Unfortunately for Combeferre, after so many years of knowing him, Courfeyrac recognized that maneuver all too well and he wasn't about to let Combeferre get away with it.

Combeferre made an attempt to evade him when Courfeyrac finally got within arm's reach, but it was a half-hearted attempt, at best. Courfeyrac was gentle with him, far gentler even than he normally was, as he pulled Combeferre into a light embrace. Combeferre held himself stiff, resistant, unable to bend even far enough to take that comfort… not yet.

Courfeyrac counted it down in his head, _10... 9.… 8.… 7.… 6.… 5... 4... 3... 2... 1..._

On nine, Combeferre began to tremble lightly in Courfeyrac's arms, warring with himself over whether to break out of that hold and attempt to regain his composure or to allow himself to be comforted, to let himself rest on someone's strength not his own. On five, he ceased trembling, held himself so stiff and still that Courfeyrac couldn't even feel him breathe. And on one, he collapsed, boneless, against Courfeyrac's shoulder, his arms coming up to clutch Courfeyrac to him as he buried his face in the crook of Courfeyrac's neck.

It was nearly ten minutes of pained whimpers and horrified recounting of the worst atrocities later -- a lifetime to Courfeyrac -- before Combeferre was ready to lift his head and take a step back. And if the shoulder of Courfeyrac's shirt was wet from when Combeferre's head had been resting upon it… well. He knew better than to say anything. What he _did_ say was this:

"No job is worth this kind of grief, Combeferre, but I know you well enough to know that any suggestion I make about you quitting will fall on deaf ears. So, instead, I propose this… how about a spoonful of sugar to help this medicine go down?"

One eyebrow raised and his entire body depicting skepticism at its best, Combeferre said, slowly, "…a game? You're proposing a _game_ to help me get through grading these atrocious affronts to the English language?"

Courfeyrac smirked, waggled his eyebrows. "That, Combeferre, is _precisely_ what I am proposing."

* * *

Two hours and ten papers later, Combeferre was forced to admit that, while Courfeyrac's grading methods were the most inefficient he'd ever engaged in, said grading methods were also far more entertaining than his usual methods. He also was forced to admit that after a bit of a break, he was looking forward to grading the other ten the same way. For now, though, he'd had enough grading, no matter how pleasurable it had been. When Courfeyrac leaned over him to pick up paper number eleven, Combeferre gently pulled it out of his hands and shook his head. At Courfeyrac's raised eyebrow, Combeferre smiled, far more relaxed than he'd been at the start of this. "I'll admit, 'strip grading' is not something I would have come up with on my own and I enjoyed it far more than I would have thought possible, but I need a break."

Courfeyrac's lips slid up into a soft smirk as he said, "I'm glad. Though, I might have thought twice before suggesting it if I'd known how bad these really were. Good grief. How many times did we get redressed? I think I'd run out of clothing to take off before we finished with the first one!"

It had been a ridiculous suggestion to begin with and Combeferre had protested the moment the words had emerged from Courfeyrac's mouth, but Courfeyrac had not been willing to listen to his objections. No funny business, he'd said. Just the addition of something ridiculous to the serious to make the serious seem not so terrible. He'd been so reasonable about it that in the end, Combeferre had capitulated. He was glad he had… except for one thing. They two had never been more than friends, nor had Courfeyrac and Enjolras. In fact, Combeferre was relatively certain that they were the only two in their entire group with whom Courfeyrac had not dallied at some time or other. It was a point of which he was especially proud, that they were able to give Courfeyrac a haven -- a place where he could relax, could lounge around in sweats all day, could just be himself without feeling a need to perform. Only… he'd been performing today. He'd been performing like all get out. It wasn't that it was unusual for him to play at seduction with Combeferre, even with Enjolras to an extent, but he'd been going hell for leather today and only an iron clad will had keep Combeferre from doing something he oughn't do before now.

But, now… fuck. It would take a stronger man to resist Courfeyrac at this moment than Combeferre currently was. They'd gotten down to their underwear on the last pass and had yet to redress for the next round. Courfeyrac had swung one leg over Combeferre's on the couch, was all but straddling him as he had reached for that last paper, one hand resting on Combeferre's shoulder for balance, Courfeyrac's chest pressing against his and his groin dangerously close to grinding level. And Combeferre had to put a stop to it before it went any further. Only telling Courfeyrac "No" generally had the opposite effect one might desire. So, the only way to get him to back off a little would be to play along, and to play along so well that it would force Courfeyrac to consider if this was what he really wanted. Combeferre only hoped Courfeyrac wouldn't call his bluff… because Combeferre didn't have the willpower to resist today, if he did.

Combeferre smiled up at Courfeyrac, chuckled low in his throat. "How many times did we redress? More times than I care to think on, and certainly we're due for another soon, but… not yet." As Courfeyrac's smirk slipped and his eyes narrowed in confusion, Combeferre added, "It's time to change the game," and slid his hand up Courfeyrac's bare flank to skim along the elastic of his underwear. When Courfeyrac's eyes widened and his breathing hitched, it was Combeferre's turn to smirk. "It seems a shame to waste all of this…" With one sweeping glance, he took in their states of dishabille.

Courfeyrac's breath caught as Combeferre's finger stopped its playing over the elastic and instead slid underneath, running teasingly around the outside of Courfeyrac's leg and then _not_ so teasingly along his inner thigh and finally dipped further underneath the elastic to slide against the hardness his underwear was doing nothing to contain. Courfeyrac let out a soft moan and let himself fall against Combeferre. "You… are you sure?"

Combeferre paused, asked softly, "…are you?"

"More than I've ever been of anything in my life."

Those words were so sincere, so completely without guile, so full of need, that Combeferre froze. In spite of years of evidence to the contrary, he had somehow still not expected Courfeyrac to call this bluff and wasn't sure what to do now that he had. And worse… Something in Courfeyrac's voice clued him in that this wasn't about Courfeyrac calling a bluff. This was genuine and suddenly, Combeferre had no idea what to do. If Courfeyrac truly was being honest about how much he wanted this, then teasing him was unnecessarily cruel… but would it not be more cruel to put him in this position in the first place? Courfeyrac was his friend. You didn't force a friend to perform sexual favors for you. That wasn't how friendship worked. Only… fuck. Courfeyrac could set a stone on fire and Combeferre was not made of stone. The desire to give in to this moment of intimacy was overwhelming and was waging such war on his desire to do the right thing that said second desire might as well have been no desire at all.

He hadn't counted on Courfeyrac. Clearly seeing the warring impulses in Combeferre's expression, Courfeyrac pushed himself away from where he had been straddling Combeferre's lap to look into his eyes. Combeferre wasn't sure what Courfeyrac saw in them, but whatever he saw made him smile softly and say, "I always figured you for the uninterested type. You don't have to force yourself on my account, Combeferre."

"Uninterested?" Combeferre's eyebrow went up. "As in asexual?"

Courfeyrac shrugged.

Combeferre's other eyebrow went up as he said, "Because anyone who could resist ravishing you after watching you parade around in various states of undress for the eight years we've lived together _must_ be asexual?"

Courfeyrac frowned. "Well… when you put it like that, it sounds rather arrogant, doesn't it?" He huffed softly, crossed his arms over his chest and hunched in on himself, then muttered, "It's understandable, though, isn't it? I mean… not to brag, but apart from Enjolras, you're the only one of Les Amis _not_ to have taken advantage, at some point. And since Enjolras is _certainly_ asexual, it's a fair conclusion to draw, don't you think?"

Combeferre reached up to take Courfeyrac's hands into his own and pulled him down next to him on the couch. When Courfeyrac reluctantly settled himself into that new position, Combeferre said softly, "Courfeyrac… I hate to pull that rug out from under you, too, but I've known Enjolras longer than you have and he is most certainly _not_ asexual." 

The hard jerk of Courfeyrac's body in his arms and the affronted "What?" that escaped his lips would have been highly amusing had Combeferre not caught the edge of hurt in his expression, as well. So, when Courfeyrac, after taking a few minutes to process that, finally asked, "But… then, why?" Combeferre had an answer ready. "You said it yourself. We're your friends -- the last thing either of us would ever do is 'take advantage' of you."

Courfeyrac stayed where he was for just long enough for that answer to sink in. And once it had…

Courfeyrac abruptly pulled himself out of Combeferre's embrace and stood. He took a step towards his jeans, a look of fierce debate crossing his features before finally settling on a harsh frown. He fidgeted towards his shirt after that, but stopped, deciding to remain unclothed. He said, voice harsh, "And neither of you thought that this was a decision you should have included me in making?" When Combeferre opened his mouth to talk, Courfeyrac cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Combeferre… fuck, I love you both, but sometimes you piss me off, you know?" He sighed and began pacing the living room. Combeferre quietly cursed himself for allowing this to turn into an emotional morass of ugliness rather than just taking the comfort Courfeyrac was willing to give in the spirit with which it was offered.

When Courfeyrac finally stopped his pacing, he turned back to Combeferre and shrugged. "It's really very simple. I like sex, OK? Men, women, queer, transsexuals of both varieties… Combeferre, I've never met a kind of sexual partner I didn't enjoy." At Combeferre's confused look, Courfeyrac rubbed his hands briskly over his face and tried, again. "I have sex because I like it, and sex with friends is the best kind of sex -- because isn't that the ultimate expression of love? Why would I want my best friends to deny me that kind of intimacy _just because they are my best friends?_ " He threw his hands in the air in disgust. "I mean… fuck! What kind of sense does _that_ make?"

Feeling as though someone had pulled the rug out from under him, now, Combeferre said, "Well… put that way, it makes no sense, at all." Now was clearly not the time to have the discussion about sex equaling love. As far as Combeferre was concerned, they were not the same thing, though they were sometimes related, but Courfeyrac… Combeferre and Enjolras had marveled before, on quiet nights when it was just they two, sitting at home and sharing a bottle of wine and quiet conversation, at how different Courfeyrac was from them. He was sensual in ways they couldn’t even understand, much less imitate, and he always seemed to have more love to spare, no matter how much he gave away. And he often expressed that love through touch -- a hand on one's back, a pointed chin resting on one's shoulder, a brief hug or a kiss on the cheek -- was this just an extension of that, then? Combeferre was no longer sure upon what kind of ground he stood in this conversation. Even more quietly, he tried to explain. "We thought we were protecting you, providing one safe place where you wouldn't have to feel obligated to, well…"

"…have sex?" When Combeferre nodded, Courfeyrac dropped down onto the couch beside him and sighed. "While I appreciate the sentiment, next time you decide to protect me from myself… ask me first, OK?" Combeferre nodded, again, and Courfeyrac let out a self-deprecating laugh, "Of course, that doesn't mean _you_ have to feel obligated, either. I'm not going to die if I don't have sex with you and that really _wasn't_ my intent when I suggested this whole thing. I just… I thought it would be fun and just ridiculous enough to get your mind off the worst of the idiocy."

Combeferre stared at him for a minute, then said, "Well… it worked." He watched Courfeyrac's pleased preening for a moment before dissolving into quiet laughter. It wasn't long before Courfeyrac joined in, as well.

When they both calmed, slumped against each other on the couch, both still in their underwear, Combeferre said softly, "What if _I_ would die?"

"What if you… what??" Courfeyrac shot upright on the couch, then immediately leaned over Combeferre's supine form. "What does that mean? What if you'd die, _what_?"

Reaching up, Combeferre pulled Courfeyrac back down against him. Feeling every indrawn breath that Courfeyrac made as his belly brushed against Combeferre's, felt it as those feather-light, teasing brushes began slowly stirring desire, once again. Combeferre said, "What if _I'll_ die if we don't have sex.?"

Courfeyrac froze again, this time pulling only far enough away to meet Combeferre's gaze. And what he saw there… what he saw there made him smile with such heart-stopping sweetness that, for a moment, Combeferre forgot how to breathe. Leaning close, Courfeyrac pressed a gentle kiss into the corner of Combeferre's lips before asking just as gently, "…how long?"

Wincing, Combeferre said, "Eight years."

That incorrigible smirk finally reappeared as Courfeyrac said, "Since the first time you saw me wander around our dorm room in a state of undress, huh?"

Even as Courfeyrac was started to waggle his eyebrows, Combeferre shook his head. When Courfeyrac raised his eyebrow in question, Combeferre explained. "Since our first day in Freshman Seminar." He blushed. "When the professor who was teaching the class said, 'Now that you are in college you are supposably all adults. Irregardless of that, there are privileges you have to earn.'" At Courfeyrac's wide grin, Combeferre's lips quirked into a small grin of their own, "You stood up and said-- "

"That's as may be, professor, but _supposedly_ the educators at this illustrious institution speak English and _regardless_ of the fact that you clearly don't, I'm sure we can all follow these simple rules you have laid down. After all, some of us are here to get an education."

Combeferre laughed and said, "You remember all that?"

And then, something happened that Combeferre had never thought he would see from Courfeyrac -- the most self-assured, shameless man he knew. Courfeyrac blushed. "I… well. You were hot. And from the moment I met you, I had a bit of a crush on you. And I saw how incensed you were getting listening to him make mistake after mistake, and I… well. I took advantage. I practiced that little speech in my head four times before standing up to make it."

Combeferre gaped for a moment before saying, "You dressed down a teacher for improper grammar as a way to _flirt_ with _me_?"

Courfeyrac blushed again, then shrugged. "It didn't work, though, did it? Eight years later and despite all my efforts -- and they have been considerable -- we _still_ haven't slept together."

Combeferre smiled softly and pulled Courfeyrac down for a brief, chaste kiss. He said, "Maybe not… but I wouldn't say it didn't work. Not when I've spent eight years actively fighting the fact that it did." Another kiss, this time pressed into the skin just beneath the corner of Courfeyrac's jaw. "Anyone who'll correct a teacher's grammar in front of a lecture hall of hundreds is a rare breed indeed… and well worth a little investment." Another kiss, this time on the column of Courfeyrac's neck and accompanied by a soft swipe of tongue. "Only… it's possible that once I've had you, I won't be willing to share you." The next kiss involved teeth as Combeferre clamped his mouth tightly down over the juncture of Courfeyrac's neck and shoulder and lightly sucked at the warming flesh. "Could you handle that?"

Courfeyrac's breathing had sped up, become ragged above him, and at that last action, he let out a soft whimper -- a whimper which quickly became a cry of disappointment when Combeferre pulled his mouth away from Courfeyrac's skin. Courfeyrac dropped his head against Combeferre's shoulder and said, with quiet vehemence, " _Fuck_. Share me, don't share me, do whatever the hell you want with me. I've been waiting eight years for you, Combeferre. Just so long as you don't make me wait any longer, I don't fucking well _care_."

Combeferre desperately wanted to put another halt on things to ask Courfeyrac to clarify his meaning just then, to ask if he understood that in a completely unfair and roundabout way, Combeferre was asking for sexual exclusivity before they'd even had a discussion about whether or not they would date, but the desperate whimper Courfeyrac let out as he ground down against him decided him on tabling that discussion for now. They could talk of meaning later. Much later. They'd both waited long enough. As Courfeyrac rocked against him, again, bit down almost angrily on Combeferre's ear lobe, he thought, _But, damn it, we **will** talk about it -- because I'm **not** sharing you, Courfeyrac. Not with anyone._ Out loud, echoing a growl he'd been unaware of making three hours earlier and causing Courfeyrac to shudder in reaction above him, Combeferre said, "No more waiting. I'd say eight years of foreplay is enough, wouldn't you?"

At that, Courfeyrac stilled and pulled away once more. Combeferre fought the desire to scream as he wondered what he'd done wrong this time. But Courfeyrac… far from looking upset, he looked like the cat who'd just spotted a canary. As he held out a hand and pulled Combeferre onto his feet and in the direction of his bedroom, he said, "Oh, I don't know. Eight years of foreplay is certainly impressive… but I don't think a few more minutes could hurt… do you? I mean… I'm pretty good at foreplay."

Combeferre answered that question in the only way a wise man could. Picking Courfeyrac up and throwing him over his shoulder, he made a beeline for his bedroom… and his bed.

"Fuck foreplay."

As Combeferre tossed him down on the bed, Courfeyrac answered that in the only way _he_ could.

"No… fuck _me_."

Combeferre paused in the doorway just long enough to growl out, " _Deal,_ " -- and then to curse long and creatively when he heard Enjolras' key in the outer lock. 'You have _got_ to be kidding me. _Now?_ "

Courfeyrac laughed long and hard at that. When he sobered, a speculative twinkle lit his eye and he yelled towards the front hall, "Hey, Enjolras! Do you have any grading to do? Combeferre and I found a new way to do it… and somehow I think you'll like it!"


End file.
